


The TA

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Arguing, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, High School Student Sam, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Stanford, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Siblings, Teacher Assistant Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11658312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Ideas?” Cas scoffs. There’s very few times Cas has gotten mad in his life. It takes a special person to flip that switch in his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he says, stepping closer, “Sam is brilliant. And I mean brilliant. That’s why he came to me for help with the application.”Dean crosses his arms, green eyes crinkling, half out of amusement, the other half testing, “Really? You’re calling me stupid when you’re meddling in student affairs?”





	The TA

**Author's Note:**

> Can we just take a moment to appreciate teachers? In their good moments and not so good moments, these are people who sacrifice their time, energy, and salaries to help raise a better society. I've been lucky to have a few really great instructors in my life, and I've no doubt they've helped shape me into the person I am today.

“So, what, you’re Good Will Hunting my little brother?”

“Actually, it’s more of like an ‘O’ Captain! My Captain!’ thing…”

“Sam, not now,” Dean snaps, turning his attention back to Cas.

Cas gulps. He knows he’s way out of his league—hell, he shouldn’t even be playing ball. Teachers aren’t even really supposed to get involved with student’s personal lives, but even worse is Cas is just a TA. He’s supposed to sit behind a desk and grade papers. His problem, as Alfie, one of the students, said after receiving an A+ argumentative essay with not one, not two, but three assorted encouragement stickers you’d see on a first-grader’s art project (Cas couldn’t decide)—stickers Mr. Singer doesn’t even own, they’re from Cas’s house—“You have a good heart, Cas.”

But how is he supposed to just sit aside when one of the students continually receives good marks? Sam Winchester is not only really smart, scoring a whopping 174 on his SATs (at least according to word of mouth because Sam’s not much to brag), he’s a really nice kid, too. He and Cas would often talk after class, really intellectual discussions (unlike the bulk of what he overhears from a class of seventeen-year-olds, what Mr. Singer calls a severe case of hormone overkill) about everything from political correctness to the latest progress on artificial intelligence.

“Dean, I understand your concern,” Cas says carefully, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Sam, I’m sure you just want what’s best for your brother, but—”

“But what?” Dean challenges. Cas bites his lip. “No, say it. I know you’re dying to.”

Cas goes quiet as he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean roars a laugh, “Oh really? You weren’t going to say you think you know what’s better for Sam than I do? Than our dad does? Just because he can’t attend every PTA meeting doesn’t mean you get to judge my family, pal—or-or try to _be_ our family!  You’re only putting ideas in his head!”

“Ideas?” Cas scoffs. There’s very few times Cas has gotten mad in his life. It takes a special person to flip that switch in his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he says, stepping closer, “Sam is _brilliant._ And I mean brilliant. That’s why he came to _me_ for help with the application.”

Dean crosses his arms, green eyes crinkling, half out of amusement, the other half testing, “Really? You’re calling _me_ stupid when you’re meddling in student affairs?”

“Meddling?” Cas’s lips purse into a sarcastic smile. “That’s what you call trying to help give him an actual shot at life? Newsflash: That’s what educators are _supposed_ to do.”

“You think college guarantees you a shot at life?”

“Why are you so against him going to college?” Cas asks. After a beat when Dean doesn’t reply, Cas asks again, “Huh? What is it? Do you not want him to succeed?”

“Bullshit,” Dean curses, “I know Sam, alright? He’ll be successful whether he’s flipping burgers or slumming in a penthouse, because he’s my brother!”

Cas shrugs. “Depends entirely on how you define success. As long as he doesn’t turn out this thick-headed, I would actually have to agree with you on something.”

“Wow, you must have some giant balls to insult me in front of my family,” Dean retorts with enough fire to transfer from the ember around his pupils to taking a hard step forward.

“He’s just trying to help, Dean!” Sam interjects, shoulder-length hair flying as he throws himself between them. After a beat, Sam starts up again: “Look, can we just go? You know how Dad gets when we’re home late.” Even though Cas can’t see the expression on Sam’s face, he can see the tension building in his shoulders even mentioning his father.

It takes Dean a moment until he visibly releases his jaw from the hold he has on it. And only after he stretches his balled hand to lift it and comb through his spikey caramel hair does he take a breath. He doesn’t speak, just turns to Sam and nods, breaking his hard stare on Cas.

That’s the first and last time Cas sees Dean Winchester.

Until a couple days later.

“Sam’s at chess club today,” Cas supplies when Dean walks in on an empty classroom.

It’s so quiet, even with Dean’s presence Cas can hear the rhythmic rattle of the AC and the screech of his yellow highlighter across the second line of Jo Harvelle’s paper. It’s like a fire alarm to his ears when Dean’s brown loggers step in a much more uneven pattern towards him. “Look… I’m sorry,” he says, sliding into the desk next to his, “I’m grateful for your help, I am. Sam’s a good kid.”

Cas looks up to the sincerity in Dean’s eyes. To be honest, Cas’s mouth would be busy trying to sweet talk him if it wasn’t preoccupied yelling at him a couple days ago. Dean’s the kind of handsome that, in high school, hooks you up with the “in” crowd, from the hard jawline to the perfectly gelled hair. Those jutting pink lips alone would be the center of every class president election poster, no matter how colorful they made them.

But something tells Cas he wasn’t that guy a few years ago. And, for both Sam’s sake and his own needling curiosity, he has to ask again, “Why don’t you want him to go to college?”

“I do,” Dean reassures. He looks almost pained saying it. “I really, really do. Who doesn’t dream of their little brother going to college? Especially Stanford. I don’t want him flipping burgers. I mean, I’d still be proud of him, but he’s made of something, you know? Hell, I never made the grades; school was never my thing, the people or the classes. He makes me proud to be related to him.

“It’s our dad, he’s… tough. He runs a funeral home. Has ever since our mom was killed. I work for him full-time, mainly so Sam doesn’t have to. Ever since he turned seventeen, our dad’s been trying get him initiated into the program.” He laughs dryly, “But Sam, of all things, wants to be a wrongful death attorney.”

“Which would slow down his business,” Cas says, scoffing.  No wonder Sam’s passionate about law. “So where do you come in?”

Dean narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean, Sam wants to go to college, your dad runs a funeral home… what do you want to do?”

Dean bites his lip like the tears starting to glaze his eyes will spill if he doesn’t. “Sorry,” he says after a beat, shaking his head, “it’s just, no one’s ever asked me that.”

Cas feels his chest deflate. He knows how it feels to be the younger brother, maybe that’s why he gets along with Sam so well, but never the older brother. He always figured Michael and Gabe are hard on him because they have the authority. It’s never occurred to him all the stress they have to go through to be the older ones, to basically represent the family. When Cas screws up, it’s not on Cas. It’s on them, for letting him screw up.

He’s also never understood why his father disapproves of him wanting to be a teacher, but now he sees it’s because he wants what’s best for Cas, which, in his eyes, is for him to have enough money to support himself—money they didn’t really have growing up. That’s why his father is short-tempered. That’s why Cas turned to teachers growing up. They gave him hope.

“Well,” Cas says, lips unfolding into a smile, “now’s your chance to tell someone.”

“I… I want to…” Dean looks around for any source of courage before his eyes rest on Cas’s again. “I want to ask you on a date.”

Cas’s eyes blow wide. That’s certainly not what he was expecting.

“I mean…” Dean laughs, unveiling a smile that’s worth a thousand highlights, “God, I’m terrible with words. I mean, I want to tell you. Over a date. You know, something casual but not too—”

Cas leans across his desk and captures Dean’s lips before he can say anymore. It’s nothing beyond a chaste kiss, but they both take their time before Cas pulls away, breathing in the musky smell of hand-me-down Goodwill flannel and Dean’s aftershave, “See, that’s my problem,” he says, “I, for one, am particularly amazing with words. Just not the right ones sometimes.”

Dean blinks a few times and takes in a breath of anticipation, “Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m sorry too,” he clarifies. “And I’d like to take you up on that date.”


End file.
